


Keep It Up

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [29]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 03:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: If Eugene O’Neill paid as well as doing porn, they wouldn’t be having this discussion.





	Keep It Up

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Anything is art. A statue of Jesus made out of cigarette butts. Boom, I'm a millionaire. I would call it Holy Smokes. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

“Anything is art. A statue of Jesus made out of cigarette butts. Boom, I'm a millionaire. I would call it Holy Smokes.”

Seb flicks his cig, watches the rain beat down the ashes. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Come on, man! I’m not saying you should do it. I’m just saying the whole notion of what counts as art these days is increasingly esoteric and subjective.”

“Esoteric? We’re not talking about me becoming a Dadaist, Chris. We’re talking about me doing porn.”

Chris stands up straight and nearly bangs his head on the overhang, the little metal one that semi-shields their back porch. “Wait, you know about Dadaism?”

“Ugh,” Seb says. “I took art history in sophomore year, remember? You helped me study.” He grinds his stub on brick and makes grabby hands at Chris’ beer. “Or was that my other so-called best friend who mocked me for like a week for mixing up Monet and Van Gogh?”

“Dude,” Chris says reproachfully, “that is 100% worth mocking. Totally different styles, man. The way they use color is--”

Seb chugs what’s left in the bottle just to make a point. Namely, that Chris is an idiot. “So,” he says, looking out over the alley, “you think I should do it, don’t you?”

Chris looks away, his face cut in two by the streetlight. His jaw twitching the way it does when he’s trying to keep his mouth shut. “I don’t--I don’t think it’s the worst idea in the world. You’d be good at it.”

“Not sure if I’m insulted or not.”

“No, I mean--” Chris turns this amazing shade of red and honestly, it’s one of Seb’s favorite things about him, how impossible it is for his skin to hide how he’s feeling. When he’s angry or excited or embarrassed, his face always runs straight to pink like a little kid’s. It’s ridiculous and stupidly charming. Even the I’m almost thirty beard he’s grown lately doesn’t help, doesn’t hide a damn thing. “I mean, the camera loves you, Sebby. And you’re a damn fine actor and if Eugene O’Neill paid as well as doing porn, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.” He shoves a hand through his hair, damp, and stares Seb straight in the eye. “But it doesn’t and that sucks and at least, if you do this, not only we will not lose the house but you’ll also be able to keep it up at the Public for another season. They love you over there, man. Even if they pay you peanuts.”

Seb sighs. Rubs the water from his face and reaches for another cigarette. Lights it. “As long as I don’t use my real name,” he says finally. “And as long as they respect my limits, stick to the terms of the contract--”

“Which I still think you should let Mackie review, by the way.”

“That’s a hard no,” Seb says. “I can fucking read, Chris. I’m not listening to his shit about this for the rest of my natural life.”

Chris holds up his hands and pretends to back away, sheepish. “Ok, ok.”

“--as long as that happens, then it makes sense, doing this.” A long drag. A few others. “I mean, it would make way less sense not to do it. A week’s worth of work. Money in the bank. No overdrafts for the foreseeable future.”

“I don’t need convincing.” Chris bumps his shoulder. “Whatever you decide to do, I’ll support.”

Seb leans into him a little. Takes comfort in the fact that Chris lets him, doesn’t back away. Chris’s always been more than happy to carry his weight. But this time it’s gone on too long. Three months, Seb hasn’t been able to make rent, three, and though Chris has been awesome about it and said  _ I’ve got you, don’t worry about it _ at least 900 times, it isn’t ok. It makes Seb feel like a kid, that he has to rely on his friend with a real job, one that has pay stubs and dental coverage and company-paid cell phones, to get by. Acting feeds his soul just fine, but it sure as hell doesn’t feed his stomach or pay his half of the electric except if his choices are quit acting or do one porno, he’ll take porn every time.

“I’ll sign it tonight and take it over in the morning,” he says, “and get this skin show on the road. And if you breathe a fucking word of this to Mackie, I’ll cut your balls off.”

Chris laughs. Seb’s body shakes with it. “Not a word, Sebbie. I promise. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Cool, Seb thinks, one last tug on the embers. ‘Cause pretty sure my heart’s never been.


End file.
